I expected to be called to account for my conversation with the Queen of Navarre earlier. The day it happened, in fact. But clever Jeanne d’Albret waited until she could speak to Charles alone, maneuvering around Mother for a second time.
“I told Her Majesty I would obey the Prince of Navarre in all corporal matters, but not in matters of faith. Nothing more. And I will swear to that upon any holy thing you like.”
Mother looks at Charles where he paces before the windows of her study. “And what exactly did the Queen of Navarre say to you?”
“That there will be no wedding and that, by the affection she bears me, she will not trespass longer on my hospitality to no purpose.”
“That sounds like her.” Mother moves to where Charles stands. “She is cleverer than I thought.” There is grudging respect in her tone. “But I will not be bested so easily.” She looks out the window. Whatever she finds there I pray it is not inspiration. I have just dispatched a letter to Henri telling him I believe I have escaped the match.
Mother turns. “We must do something bold, Your Majesty.”
“What would you suggest, Madame? I will not beg for a husband for Margot. That would be demeaning to us both.”
If Jeanne has offended Charles’ dignity all will be well.
“The matter of the marriage was settled in principle before Jeanne left Nérac,” Mother says. “Since her arrival she has been fixated upon a thousand little details of the ceremony.”
“Ancient history,” Charles replies. “For now it appears she rests her refusal upon Margot’s unbending Catholicism.”
“Perhaps, but she will have a hard time sustaining that objection if it is all she has, for she knew your sister, and indeed Your Majesty, to be firmly Catholic from the beginning.”
“So?” Charles looks as genuinely puzzled as I feel.
“We cede everything at once—everything save your sister’s faith and the requirement that Henri de Bourbon travel to Paris to be married.”
I gasp.
“And you make the proffer publicly—at dinner ce soir.”
“That will set our cousin scrambling.” Charles chortles, and in that laughter I hear loss. Charles likes to win just as much as Mother or Anjou. He seldom gets the chance, so the opportunity to outplay the Queen of Navarre appeals. “Oh, yes, I will do it, if only to see her face. She is so controlled, so in command of her every expression, but I believe this may discompose her.”
“More importantly, it will leave her with nowhere to retreat,” Mother says. “Her advisors are nearly all in favor of the marriage, and have Coligny at their elbows urging. One of her chief defenses—beside her slew of objections to details—has been the claim that our word cannot be trusted. Well, this offer will be made in front of a hundred souls. There will be no going back from this pledge, at least not with honor.”
Mother smiles as if she has won already.
*
The breeze through the window is warm and playful. Birds are riotous in the budding trees. No one could be insensible to the glorious signs of spring. I part my lips slightly and believe I can taste it. Closing my eyes, leaning on the open casement, I allow myself to forget why I am here. I allow the April weather to trick me into thinking myself reborn. And truly my whole life should lie ahead of me.
“The documents are ready.”
My eyes open at the sound of Mother’s voice. The blue skies over Blois have lost their power to delight. The twittering of the birds seems suddenly the cackling of diplomats. For three months my hopes of avoiding a marriage with Navarre rose and ebbed. In a moment I will sign my marriage contract. There is no hope left.
Turning from the window, I see the King, with the Cardinal de Bourbon and Admiral Coligny on either side of him. I cannot read Charles’ face; the admiral smiles; the Cardinal looks solemn. I wonder if this is because, unlike Coligny, who merely worked for this match, His Grace must pay to achieve it. He has been made to renounce all rights and recognize my cousin as sole heir of the House of Bourbon. On top of this, he will turn over one hundred thousand livres to my groom.